


I don't wanna break these chains

by ms_anthrophy



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Anal Sex, Angry Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Bottom Sam, Canon-Typical Violence, Comeplay, M/M, Rough Sex, Sex on the Impala, Sibling Incest, Slash, Spit As Lube, Top Dean
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-18
Updated: 2016-09-18
Packaged: 2018-08-15 18:40:35
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,420
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8068459
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ms_anthrophy/pseuds/ms_anthrophy
Summary: The night Sam leaves for Stanford. Sex, violence, angst and a reasonably happy ending.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Title snatched from Alice Cooper. Actually his song Poison was the main inspiration for this fic. Beta'd by the absolutely awesome luciusmistress, all remaining mistakes are mine.

Sam was sitting shotgun, a purple bruise blooming on his face. He wiped dried blood from under his nose. From the corner of his eye he saw Dean, sitting stiff, eyes to the road, left side of his mouth swollen and bloody. Sam had seen corpses look more alive. The music was loud enough that the crappy car stereo was breaking the sounds into screeching, like something being torn apart, something so deep and sacred it had no name.

_You're poison runnin through my veins  
You're poison, I don't wanna break these chains_

Sam didn't want to, not really, but in the end, that was what he was doing. 

 

_an hour earlier:_

Sam was leaving. Sam. Was. Leaving. Dean had known for a few weeks, had hoped this would just be a phase, frustration, something that would pass. Hoped that Sam wouldn't leave him to chase his fucking holy grail of normality. He had screamed, threatened, talked, cried, begged, had seen the first cracks appear in Sam's resolve, the tells in how his gaze shifted, the almost unnoticeable movement of his lower lip. And then Dad had barged in and it all went to Hell. 

Their angry words, Sam's and Dad's alike, so alike, were still ringing in his head. He had listened, paralyzed, unable to do anything, had wanted to talk some sense into the stupid, stubborn bull-headed pair, but no words came out. He had wanted to beat them both up bloody just so the poisonous words would stop. Which they did, with Sam walking out the door, Dad's stony face showing no emotion whatsoever when he went to get the bottle. Dean had followed Sam into the warm evening, not knowing what to do or say, pain and frustration prickling under his skin so bad he absently wondered how he wasn't bleeding physically. 

"Sam! Wait!"

Sam turned, tears glittering in the corners of his eyes. 

"Dean. It's- it's not you. It's the hunting. And Dad. This is my first, last and only change to have a life of my own-"  
"The fuck? This hasn't been... so all we have, what's that been then?"  
"Following Dad's obsession all the way. You can't be so fucking blind you don't see it. It leads nowhere, I won't be salting and burning ghosts for the rest of my fucking life."  
"Yeah, because people getting killed is not as important as a fancy degree and a white picket-fence, right?" There was a silent _"not as important as your brother"_ in Dean's question. Sam heard it loud and clear, louder than everything else, and it hurt like a knife twisting in his gut.  
"So I can't have a life of my own because you're married to Dad's mad quest for vengeance?"

That was it. The last straw. Dean's fist connected with Sam's face. Hard. 

Bright flashes of lightning were dancing behind Sam's eyes and his ears were ringing -and the pain from the blow felt good. Anything distracting was good, anything to make him not think about what he was doing, not think of the helpless agony in Dean's eyes. Not that Sam wasn't angry too -at Dad of course, but at Dean too. Hell, the jerk had just punched him in the face for speaking the truth. It made Sam rage to think of Dean's obedience, the way he seemed completely unable to see beyond the sad excuse of a life John had offered them. 

"That make you feel better?"

Sam was wiping blood from under his nose, glaring at Dean with defiance and loathing. It made Dean want to hit him again. Sam blocked Dean's right hook and tried to kick his feet under him. Dean dodged and punched Sam right in the eye with his left fist.

"No, and that didn't either. Maybe third time's the charm."

Sam's fist met Dean's jawline, he felt the bone under skin and flesh and maybe it was John Sam really wanted to punch, but it still felt satisfying. At least until Dean hit Sam in the stomach hard enough to draw the air out of Sam's lungs. Sam doubled over, sputtering and spitting blood, fighting for breath, when Dean grabbed him by his collar and hauled him against the Impala's hood.

"Fuck your normal life. In fact, fuck you." 

Dean grabbed Sam's hair and drew him closer, feeling the body heat, breathing the elusive scent that was Sam and Sam alone. Rage and loss and pain and lust fighting inside, tearing him apart. The lust won. It'd be the last time. Dean yanked Sam's jeans and boxers down. 

Sam's eyes mirrored the same helpless need, even if he still struggled against Dean's grip.

"Stay where you are, slut!" Dean snarled. Sam stilled when he heard Dean's zipper open.

Dean spat on his palm, coated his cock with the fluid and fucked right into Sam, no preparation whatsoever, slow, deep and hard. Dean could hear the tinge of pain in Sam's moans, it hurt, it was _supposed_ to hurt, but the way Sam squirmed against Dean, took every thrust, he wanted it just as much as Dean, just like this, fast and dirty and angry.

"You just keep still and take it, bitch."  
"Harder, jerk."  
"I'll show you harder."

Dean dug his fingers deep into the flesh of Sam's lean hips, leaving fingerprint-shaped bruises, drew blood where his fingernails pressed into Sam's skin.

Dean bit Sam's neck over and over, left purpling bruises along that whole beautiful, inviting curve. He wanted to mark Sam so bad that everyone in the fancy college would see that Sam was his as much as Dean was Sam's in turn, that it would never change. _The last fucking time..._

"Too fucking bad these will heal. I'd mark you mine, forever and ever.."  
"You think you fucking own me?"  
"Guess not." Dean felt like the words were sticking into his throat like physical things _(physical things like the Sam-shaped hole he'd have in his heart)_ blocking his air supply. "But you're my brother and you're leaving and I can't fucking help it." Dean covered Sam's mouth with his hand. 

"And now you shut the fuck up and take it. Like a good boy. Proper college boy soon, huh? You'll have big brother's come leaking out of your ass when you sign in, slut."

Sam was trying to say something between the muffled groans and whimpers of pleasure-pain and Dean didn't want to hear it. _Let me have this, just once, before-_ Sam sank his teeth into Dean's palm, but it wasn't a "no" he wanted to say, not with the way he was thrusting his ass against Dean, needing more. 

Dean knew he wouldn't last long, not with the way Sam's sweet, tight hole kept squeezing him. The pleasure built, grew unbearable, he felt his balls tighten and there was just this, Sam under him, _needing_ him. No past with the stolen moments, heated groping in the dark, shushed moans of pleasure, constant fear of Dad finding out; certainly no future, cold and blank and empty, without Sam. Just this. Just this, and Dean sank his teeth into the nape of Sam's neck and spilled deep into Sam's ass, kept fucking through his orgasm, wet, nasty sounds mixed with moans.

"Filled you right up, bitch."  
"Dean, please..."  
"Gonna come for big bro, Sammy?"

Dean reached for Sam's dick, painfully hard now and leaking precome and jerked him roughly. It took barely three strokes and Sam was coming all over Dean's hand, all over the Impala, newly waxed and shining in the moonlight -and some other time he would've cared.

Both still in post-orgasmic haze, both trying to pretend it wasn't the last time, Dean gathered Sam's come from the Impala's hood and smeared Sam's face with it, rough, come-stained fingers all over Sam's face and he licked them lazily. Then Dean saw Sam's duffle bag, packed with the few things he called his own, like metastasis of the cancer of Sam leaving him forever. Dean wiped his fingers on Sam's shirt, tucked himself in and drew a deep breath. 

"Get in the car or you'll miss your bus."

He didn't want to talk and turned the music on, up to eleven. _Poison. Like fucking fate._ Alice Cooper did his best to drown out the deafening silence.

 

_I hear you callin and it's needles and pins_  
_I wanna hurt you just to hear you screaming my name  
Don't wanna touch you, but you're under my skin_

 

Dean remembered Sam's voice from some other time, back when it felt like it was forever, remarking something to the effect of "seriously, 'your lips are venomous poison' is rather redundant" and Dean had laughed and called Sam a dork. Now Sam would never be there to nitpick things like that, never annoyingly correct Dean's choice of words and it made Dean want to hug him and never let go, to beg him to stay but he had done that already and fat lot of good that had done. At the same time, he wanted to punch Sam in the face so hard he'd be brushing his teeth through his ass and he bottled all the emotions inside and they felt too large to fit inside his skin. Dean made his face go blank, parked the Impala near the bus stop and did. Not. Cry.

Sam glanced at Dean, briefly, like he didn't want to, but _had_ to, tears running down his cheeks, mumbled something non-committal, got up and walked away, hurried. 

 

Dean sat still for a long time, watching the road that had taken Sam away, not even noticing that he was crying. What the fuck was he supposed to do now? 

***

Sam had ran out of tears somewhere during the bus ride. Fields drenched in gray rain passed by, every mile taking him further away from Dean and it felt like someone had cracked his ribcage open and was slowly sinking rusty tongs into his too fast-beating heart. And that someone, it was Sam himself. But he had to do this, had to take his chance in getting a real life, like the ones he had watched for years, hoping against hope, envy and grief eating him inside like acid. 

The pain of his bruises felt like Dean was still touching him. Dean's come was slowly leaking out of his sore ass and in any other situation that would have made Sam hard again. He didn't want to think about how he would heal, how the bruises would be gone like they were never there in the first place. How it had been the last time he heard Dean whisper filth in his ear, his breath hot on Sam's skin, how it had been the last time he felt Dean bite down hard on his neck when his cock pulsed inside Sam's ass. 

Sam opened his duffle bag to get a bottle of water and there was something angular and hot pink, right under a second-hand flannel shirt. A fucking Barbie pencil case. _Dean. It meant... Dean's hurt, sure as Hell angry with me, but still... the goodbye. It wasn't forever._

 

***

Epilogue 

John felt like he was spending time with a Dean-shaped effigy, like half of his older son had been sucked into the Sam-shaped hole in the ruins of their lives. Dean drank too much (not that John was one to judge), cracked bad jokes and laughed, but his laughter was too loud, too brittle, like there was just the thin, hard veneer of "I'm fine". Underneath it something was broken, something John was afraid to face. Dean had always fucked around, but now he acted like there actually was a Guinness World Record for one-night stands and he was determined to beat it.

When they hunted, Dean was now downright scary. John knew how it felt to lose his pain in the heat of the fight, how courting death made you feel alive again. Hell, he'd taught it to both of his boys by example. But now... the burning rage he saw in Dean's eyes when he put some creature out of its misery frightened him. Dean had always been brave, always ready to throw himself in the line of fire, but before it had been the recklessness of youth when you haven't really realized that one day you'll die. Now it looked more like Dean knew it and just didn't care. 

It was like Dean, the _real_ Dean, was actually closer when he was sitting in silence, meticulously cleaning their guns and sharpening blades. Then it felt like it might be possible to reach him, if John had known the right words. He didn't.

***

Sam was so drunk the world was spinning slightly. He was sitting on his bed, fingering his cell phone nervously. He'd excused himself from the perfectly nice and normal company he'd been getting drunk with. At first it had been fun and Sam had almost felt like a normal student. But when evening turned into night, beer gave way to cheap vodka mixed with coke and with intoxication came strange clarity. He hadn't been able to follow his fellow students' conversations anymore and his thoughts kept returning to Dean. He was good at acting like a normal college student but that's all he was doing, playing a role, creating a false facade again. And he missed something real so bad it hurt. "'S the problem of getting what you want. You get what you want", Sam mumbled to himself and dialed Dean's number. 

 

"D-dean?"  
"Sammy? What's up?" Faked casual. 

"Got drunk with some people. Then..."  
"Oh, you're finally living life a bit. Did you get laid?"  
"N-no... I... just... didn't feel right. Anything at all. Feels like I don't belong anywhere and I... I miss you."

The silence was so heavy it was a wonder the very air didn't break under the words left unsaid. Dean didn't dare to ask Sam to come back. Sam's "Please, I want to come home." died in his throat. 

"I'll come see you, you big girl. Wanna fuck you into the mattress like I used to. Gonna make you scream."  
"Fuck. Wish you were here already. My stupid roommate is gonna throw a fit."

The air was cold, it smelled of autumn; crisp leaves and slow death, but the weight on Dean's heart, so heavy he had barely been able to breathe around it, was gone. Sure Sam was still chasing his normal, but he wasn't gone. Not really.


End file.
